smoke and fire
by endlessly wandering
Summary: he was only human, and fate took a leap over him and signed his name on that dotted line, and as if everything were waiting on that signature, the world went silent.
1. Chapter 1

_Wild Horses is on the back burner until I can get out of this writer's block thing I've got going on._

 _Meanwhile, this is here as a replacement. Thank you for reading._

 **smoke and fire**

There wasn't a day he could remember that was darker than this one.

In one moment, he was standing outside the DX, about to head home. The sky had a dreary, depressed look to it––the same sky that always loomed over Tulsa. Tulsa was a depressing place; the people were depressing; the home he lived in with only his two brothers had finally, as he always preached but neither of them ever listened, turned into one hell of a depressing roof over his head.

He wasn't very smart––dropped out of high school for that very reason––but knew a depressing town when he saw one, and if there were ever an award for the shittiest weather and townspeople, Tulsa would win it without any sort of competition.

"Gotta smoke?"

Soda looked to his right; found his best friend, Steve, standing beside him with his oil-tinted hand outstretched in a request. Soda wasn't a smoker, at least not very often, but he always had some for a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing. A smirk traveled along Steve's jaw as Soda fumbled for the pack in his back pocket, and begrudgingly set one of the white sticks in his hand.

"Can always count on you, Curtis."

"Only 'cause I'm better off having less than more of the shit."

Steve waved his remark off. "Darry wouldn't kill ya––I mean, look at that kid brother of yours. Kid smokes more and more every day." Soda, silently agreeing but not giving Steve the satisfaction of having it in words, shoved himself off the wall he'd been leaning on and looked to the clouds, as if trying to find the sun behind them.

Somehow he'd managed to get into his truck and drive away, and maybe it was because of the lack of smarts he had or because of the dreary atmosphere about him, but Soda didn't remember driving to a recruitment office. But here he was regardless, with the car completely motionless, one hand on the gear shift and the other on the door handle as if his mind was debating on doing one or the other.

And then, like God himself was within the body of one of the militia-dressed men, he was sitting in a dark gray room with a booklet in front of him.

"So you wanna be a soldier, kid?"

Soda looked up from staring blankly at the booklet and into the eyes of the rough, offset eyes of the officer before him. "Yeah, man," he said, and noticing how the officer's eyes flashed in annoyance, he stumbled on his own tongue and blurted, "I-I mean...sir."

"Why're you fidgetin' like a leaf in the wind, then?"

Soda straightened in his chair. The officer seemed to take this as a response, for he leaned towards Soda close enough that his breath hit Soda's face when he talked. "Do you know the benefits of being a soldier of this great country? Do you know what it takes––what it means––to wear that uniform, boy? To go across the world and fight for your friends and family?"

"No, sir. I ain't ever been in anything more than a few blocks from home."

"It takes one hell of a man, boy," the officer's eyes flashed with something like determination, or pride, or whatever it was that men felt when they saw someone with potential. He suddenly rose and walked over to a file cabinet, where he fished through minella folder after folder until he found what he was looking for. There was only the sound of Soda's heart racing in his chest and the slapping of his boots against the pavement as the officer sat down before him again and threw something in his direction.

Looking down, Soda's heart sank to his feet at the words sprawled on the very top of the page: _United States Airforce Recruitment_.

But even though Soda was nodding along as the officer went on a tangent about how amazing it was to be in the air force, how many benefits he would receive, all Soda was thinking about was how the _hell_ he was going explain this to Darry and Ponyboy. Pony would be sad at first, but then would adjust to it; Darry, on the other hand, would be a different matter to take on––one he wasn't sure he could even survive.

Finally, the officer stopped ranting and told Soda the one thing he wasn't even sure he wanted to be told: "You'd be one hell of a soldier to the program, kid."

He stared blankly at the dotted line that was staring him right in the face. One thought weighed heavy in his mind: he was only human, and if he went to meet God before anyone else in his life, then at least he'd be doing something worth meeting him for. He'd be doing something that no amount of schooling could prepare him for; his dad used to say that only the ones that weren't believed in by their peers went into the military, but right now, Soda felt the opposite: he felt believed in.

Fate took a leap over him and signed his name on that dotted line, and as if everything were waiting on that signature, the world went silent.

"It takes one hell of a man to join the air force," the officer repeated softly, and this time, Soda looked directly into the pride that flooded his eyes, almost like he was a father looking down on his son. "But I think I'm looking at one hell of a man right now."


	2. Chapter 2

_**a/n:** This will probably be the only update of the week, since I'm starting school on Monday (August 28th) and have a paper due for my AP Literature class that same day and I still have to write the thing. I have an outline but I haven't sat down to write it. Compare and contrast essays on books like The Great Gatsby and Jane Eyre and East of Eden are not my favorite thing._

 _I'm unsure as of right now whether or not Wild Horses will have an update before I start up school, but if not, expect an update for that one in the coming weeks. I'll do my best._

 _Sorry if Soda and Darry seem out of character; I thought the beginning would lighten it up so I kept it._

* * *

 **smoke and fire**

He wasn't God, that was for sure. He didn't have some sort of destiny; he had no path set for him since he dropped out of school. He didn't have some cool ability; couldn't walk on water, couldn't heal others with just a touch of his hand to their skin. He wasn't God, but that night he walked through the front door and stood before his older brother like he was about to be crucified.

The words were soft, even the slightest bit pained, as he said, "I've done somethin' that you ain't gonna like hearin' about."

"You got someone pregnant?"

Soda snorted and coughed out a quick "uh, no," to which Darry replied, "Then there ain't anything worse than that; at least not for you. Pony could be doing drugs or getting drunk on the street and I would kick his ass, but you? About the only thing I can see you doing is either getting someone pregnant or getting pregnant yourself, which is completely impossible." He barked out a laugh at his own remark, his harsh green eyes burning into Soda's dark brown.

Soda scuffed the front end of his shoe against the tile floor and tried to hide the growing distress. Darry's laughter died to a short rumble in his chest as he stared at him with one eyebrow raised, and to Soda, that meant Darry was catching on.

Shit.

"I-kinda-sorta-maybe-signed-up-for-war. Don't be mad." Soda threw a smile on his face for good measure and watched, dread sinking his body temperature to nothing but ice as Darry's eyes darkened.

"You're kidding."

"I'm not kidding."

"Please tell me you're kidding."

"Nope."

"Did you really get someone pregnant and are just saying this to cover that up?"

"Ain't had a girlfriend since Sandy; you know that. So no."

"Are you the first pregnant man?"

Soda groaned and threw his hands up in the air. "Darry, no! God, no! You just said that was impossible!"

"I was just checking! Sweet baby Jesus," Darry put a hand to his temples and shut his eyes, breathing out a sigh. "Sodapop Patrick Curtis," he said his full name as if it were the most exhausting thing he'd done all day, "Are you _fucking_ serious?"

He nodded sheepishly, which only made Darry's voice drop a complete octave when he spoke. "Why in the hell did you do that? Do you know what you've just done?"

"I signed my name on a paper; it was pretty easy––"

"Not _that_ , you dumbass. I mean do you know what you've just done to our family? To Ponyboy; to me?"

It was then that Soda noticed a number of memories that came into Darry's vision. Their dad had gone off to war before Darry was born, and always told them stories of fighting and how much it took out of you; he told them of how he'd gone off to war with their mom pregnant and came home to Darry being two years old. He told them both that no matter what they did in life, going off to war was the worst thing; it would make them lose themselves in all the chaos, in all the gunfire and smoke.

Somehow, he knew exactly what to say to counteract Darry's upcoming words. "I know what I did, Dar, and I know it wasn't what anybody wanted. But it was what I wanted; what I didn't know I wanted until it was sitting in front of me! I was never good at anything other than fighting; you and Mom and Dad knew that more than anything. I'm not smart like Pony; I'm not fit to build things like you. I'm just... I'm just here, and this is something I can do, Darry; I can fight with or without a gun."

"This isn't what Dad planned––"

"I know, Darry, I know! But you've got to trust me on this. Dad ain't here to slap me upside the head and tell me to use it anymore; Mom ain't here to shelter us anymore. Dad ain't here to fight your battles with me anymore. You're grown up, I'm grown up, and our parents aren't here to tell us what we can and can't _fucking do anymore._ You're not gonna lose me if that's what you're worried about."

"We're gonna go down to that office tomorrow and––"

Darry's face was suddenly inches from his own as he growled, "Don't you dare. This was my choice. I'm not gonna let you fight me on this, Darry––it was my choice and my decision. I know that when I signed that line, I signed my life away; but I can live with that because I'll actually be useful."

"But you're needed here more than there, Soda! That's what you're not getting––Pony needs you here; I need you here."

Soda couldn't keep the words back; they just came up like bile and were spat out of his mouth without a second thought. "What, so I can be the peacekeeper between you two again? So I can keep you two at a distance and never, ever grow close like he and I are?"

"That's not what I meant, Soda, and you know that," Darry's eyes were growing fearful, but the words kept coming.

"What do you think was my main motivation to _go_ , Darry? Just to shoot people with guns? It was so I could get away from here. Away from this town, these people, and you two most of all. Pony knows you ain't ever treated him like you do me, Darry, and maybe that's just because he's the youngest and you're not sure how to parent him any more than I am, but that's why. That's why I'm doing this; to make myself useful and to get out of this place for a while. I'm doing it for my sake, for yours, and for Pony's."

He turned, ready to leave Darry standing there with a pained facial expression, and found Ponyboy standing right in front of them.

Double shit.


End file.
